


Orpheus, pride and joy

by biggayhimbo



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Adoptive Parents - Freeform, Coming of Age, Culture Shock, Dryads - Freeform, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, arc one character powers, as a treat, credit to hozier, fey characters, found family trope, hexblood, i made up an entire language for this, like not canon compliant at all, neurodivergent-coded everyone, rob a racist 2021, velrisa deserves a little lesbianism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayhimbo/pseuds/biggayhimbo
Summary: I wanted to see the Five handle working with a child/young teen. Then I remembered I’m- in the least qualified and most derogatory sense of the word- a writer, so I can do that.Dollont, thirteen, has been raised for a destiny he doesn’t know what to do with. So when adventurers stumble into the grove he lives in and offer to take him with them, he accepts.Homesick, naive, fruity, bad at emotions, barely a teenager, and most importantly: an untapped spring of potential, let’s see him in charge of seasoned warriors and magick-wielders.
Kudos: 5





	1. of forests and birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> hey besties 
> 
> you already KNOW what it is it’s a hyperfixation
> 
> i hope you enjoy this, criticism appreciated :)

The fated five are walking through a forest outside Viector in early evening.

Bra’ad in the front, creating small birds and shining gemstones out of illusions and leaving them floating in the air, next to Taxi, staff in one hand. Hilltree hops along after them, tossing a coin into the air and catching it, again and again. 

Sylnan and Mountain after him, talking, and Velrisa in the rear, warhammer strapped at her waist, all at ease for the first time in weeks. 

Boots crunch in leaves, make sucking sounds in patches of mud, crack twigs. 

They plod down a worn dirt path, no current quests, no guards after them, no wanted posters.

At daybreak in the forest, the trees had practically exploded, flashing through the seasons impossibly quickly, moving from their green spring buds to vibrant summer tones, tumbling into autumnal warmths, and finally coming to rest with the bare branches of winter. 

Uncommon for the time of year- the cresting hill of spring. 

Taxi takes notice of their out-of-season skeletons first.

“Veil!”

No other words, but the party snaps to attention at his shout. 

Velrisa jogs up next to him, following the line of his hand. 

“I see it. Let’s go.”

At a run, the two take off down the path, the rest of the party taking to their heels after them, Mountain carrying Hilltree. 

They draw nearer, noticing first that not every tree is dead, only some, maybe 300.

Noticing second that the trees that have died are a little away from the rest of the forest. 

And third, that as they breach the gap between living and dead forest, it feels like running under a waterfall, even though they’re still dry. 

Once past the waterfall-feeling, everyone hears singing- in elvish, not common, confusing Mountain- and the sound of some sort of string instrument.

The very sound of it enthuses them all with a deep pang of pain, of grief. 

_“There will come a fire, tireless it burns!”_

The wind and trees echo a return. 

_“Every dryad meets her end, soil and sunlight be warned.”_

Bra’ad pulls out a lyre and plucks along to the next verse. 

_“There will come thunder, lightning will it hurl!”_

The trees take no notice of his playing, returning the line. 

_“Every dryad meets her end, sky and rain be warned.”_

But the first voice cuts off, and there’s only the rustle of the breeze. 

Sylnan gives his brother a look.

“Bra’ad!”

“What?”

“This place could be danger!”

“But the song was catchy!”

Taxi throws a hand up at them both. 

“Hush.”

Mountain takes up his pike, and Velrisa waves at him to put it away. 

“Put it down. These are nature spirits, we have to make peace.”

Mountain gives her a dirty look, but the rustling grows louder, nearer, and he does. 

A voice- in common, deeper than the one that was singing- booms out towards the edge of the clearing and the party.

**“Announce yourself!”**

Taxi steps forward.

“My name is Taxi, I’m a druid.”

A silence, more rustling, and then a boy- a teenager, if that- drops down from the branches of the nearest tree. 

Dappled blue skin, thick dreadlocks to the middle of his back, and barefoot in only rough wooden armor and loose pants, he really is just a boy.

“And the rest of you?”

The deep voice is gone, closer to that of an adolescent.

Bra’ad spells his name in sparks.

“I’m Bra’ad! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Sylnan casually smacks Bra’ad in the back of his head.

“Sylnan Vengolor.”

Velrisa cuts her eyes at them both. 

“My name is Velrisa, most people call me Vel.”

Mountain pulls Hilltree off his back and rests one hand on his sword hilt. 

“Mountain.”

Taxi takes a tentative step forward, noticing the laurel crown on his brow and the longbow the boy has across his back. 

“We saw the trees were dead, we came to-”

The boy’s face lights up.

“Oh! So you came to have your respects! You could’ve said that. Come on, come on!”

He charges the twenty feet to Taxi, grabs his arm, and starts dragging him deeper into the glade.

Panic strikes for the others- stay? Follow? 

Hilltree, oddly, is the first to start awkwardly running after them. 

The rest of the party starts off in pursuit, hands on their weapons, fingers going to pull at lucky charms and blessed rings. 

A quarter-mile into the forest, there’s a clearing, tall grass worn down flat from years of walking.

The trees beckon and sway, branches twisting and creaking, watching. 

There’s a cylindrical house with a red-shingled roof and a fenced garden at the center of the clearing, with huge peaked windows and a second floor jutting over the first on pillars.

Taxi and the boy are standing next to a tree that was struck by lightning, and the boy seems to be praying. 

Taxi is awkwardly following suit, on one knee with his head bowed and his hand holding up his staff. 

The rest of the party pauses across the clearing from them, but the boy’s head tips to one side, and after a pause, he stands up and turns to see them. 

“Are the rest of you here to see Aklo Gia too?”

The sun is dipping beyond the horizon, red-gold light painting the forest.

Bra’ad steps forward, oblivious as ever. 

“Who’s Aggro Gaea?”

The boy’s face twists. 

“Aklo Gia was the dryad who raised me.”

Bra’ad looks puzzled. 

“Dryad? That was her tree?”

“Yes. She was struck last night.”

“Oh.”

He leaves the others, crosses over towards Taxi, and kneels.

“It’s very lame that your tree died, Miss Aklo, I hope it didn’t hurt.”

The boy seems somewhat satisfied.

“She wasn’t in her tree. So I don’t think it hurt too much.”

Taxi pushes up from his prayer, offering a hand to Bra’ad. 

“So- these trees are just in mourning. Not actually dead?”

The boy nods, crown tilting. 

“Vel!”

Velrisa is halfway across the clearing already, with the others following her. 

“What’s happened?”

“The trees- they’re dryads. In mourning.”

Velrisa closes her eyes and focuses a second. 

“And there’s no spirit to pass on. So we should probably go.”

The moon is rising but not yet lit, sky growing close to maroon.

Sylnan gives her a look, like she’s missing something, and turns to the boy. 

“And this- this Aklo lady was taking care of you?”

“Kind of.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m ten-and-three today.”

Bra’ad gasps.

“It’s your birthday?”

He nods, and Bra’ad snaps his fingers, a beam of light making a paper hat on the boy’s head. 

“Happy birthday!”

Mountain gives him a look.

“Bra’ad. Not the time.”

“Oh.”

Sylnan pays neither of them any mind, eyes trained on the boy.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“I don’t have one.”

Mountain scoffs.

“Why not?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Everybody needs a name.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“I could call you _Tellono_. Who needs names?”

One tree, a young one across from the group, giggles. 

Mountain turns to it, red in the face- the most he understood was the mocking laugh- and Sylnan grabs him by the collar to keep him from charging towards the tree.

Taxi waves both of them back.

“Sorry about them- here, can we call you sapling?”

“I _guess_?”

“Okay, Sapling, we have to go back to the forest and set up camp before night truly falls.”

“Why?”

“To avoid attack.”

“One moment, Druid.”

The boy turns on one heel, grabs a lantern hanging off the eaves of the house, and races off through the trees.

He’s not gone for long, but by the time “Sapling” returns, the sky is purple, bordering on black. 

He’s carrying a basket on one shoulder, carefully propped up with one hand, lantern in the other.

Hilltree peeks out from behind Sylnan’s leg, watching the boy run across the clearing, drop the basket by the door to the house, and run up to the tree that giggled. 

As the sun finally dips below the horizon, he knocks on a knoll in the bark. 

_Thunk. Tha-thunk, tha-thunk, thunk-thunk._

The bark peels back, and a young girl with shocks of coiled red hair jumps into the clearing.

She doesn’t even reach to Sapling’s chest, but she immediately crushes him into a hug.

“Enota!”

Sapling smiles and hugs right back.

“Kreyo!”

She kisses him once on each cheek, and he returns the favor.

Across the clearing and in the forest beyond, now that the sun has set, trees open, lanterns flicker on, and a language that none of the party knows fills the air. 

Straining their ears, they can hear a mixture of Elvish and an unknown language, with a few repeating words- _Aklo Gia, Enota, Tellono,_ and _Druid._

“Come and sit.”

Sapling pulls benches from under the tower eaves, starting a tiny fire in a mud-and-stone pit. 

Other dryads come up to the rest of the party, taking them to the benches. 

Then words are flying from mouth to mouth that nobody of the five particularly understands, but Sapling disappears into the house and comes back with an armful of bread and a teaketttle. 

Women of every skin color and hair texture, all in green or white gowns, pass by the dead tree and pay respects. 

Sapling translates for the few dryads who don’t know Elvish or Common, introducing the travelers to everyone. 

Mountain pulls out a flask, and once the crowds of mourners go home to return their trees to spring glory, the conversation slows to a manageable pace to follow. 

The girl from the young tree has no name either, so Bra’ad nicknames her Petal, for the tiny white flowers in the small braids mixed with her curls. 

Sapling cuts the dense loaves into squares while Petal starts tea. 

Bra’ad and Taxi sit criss-cross applesauce on the ground, Velrisa and Sylnan on the bench across the firepit from Sapling and Petal, and Mountain and Hilltree lean against their bench.

Sylnan’s got a hard look on his face, determination. 

“So, Sapling. Thirteen, right?”

He nods, mouth full of bread.

“And your guardian is dead?”

Sapling nods again, sharing a suspicious look with Petal.

“So who will take care of you?”

“Nobody. I’m thirteen. I won’t be allowed to stay in the clearing much longer anyway.”

Mountain takes a break from his flask. 

“Why not? You live here, right?”

Petal speaks, in an accented Common. 

“Te is a man now. Te must go journey.”

Bra’ad claps his hands, wiggling. 

“Oh! Adventure?”

Petal nods, beaming with pride. 

“Te will ‘ave to zee the world before te returns. Make tis decision to stay.”

Velrisa takes a quiet sip of tea and breaks her silence. 

“Why not you? You’re young. Why can you stay?”

Petal laughs.

“Enota is not a dryad like me! I can travel if I like, zo long as my tree is strong, but te must go zee the world.”

The fire is down to it’s last embers now, Hilltree poking at it with his knife. 

Taxi hesitates, fidgeting with his walking stick, but he turns and looks at the boy. 

“We’re adventurers. Travelers.”

Sylnan nods. 

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

Velrisa nods too.

“We don’t have any quests at the moment, we could show you the ropes.”

Petal absolutely glows. 

_“Enota! Velk da min yat, velk da min yat! Wu dahl roj, wu teng lagna zahn colet diit.”_

(Brother! They will take you, they will take you! You must go, you may never get another chance.)

Nobody has a clue what she’s saying other than Sapling. 

_“Wu dahl roj lek tonn e alle kah dawna. Geyt mallied e da roj.”_

(You must go talk with me and the elders. Then perhaps I will go.)

They stand as one, and Sapling turns to the rest of the group.

“Stay here. I will be back. Make camp if you need.”

Before anyone can say anything, he takes a lantern and follows Petal down a trail. 


	2. of dawna and dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey besties
> 
> thank you to kaz for reading this even though you literally have no clue what the podcast is 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy
> 
> constructive criticism is appreciated 
> 
> :)

Enota and Kreyo march off down the path, dryads popping out from tree trunks to go with them, groups of two or three around lanterns, gathering, following.

Up a hill, through where the trees thin, and onto a ridge. Under the arching boughs of huge, old trees that form a perfect circle around a center stump. 

The dryads fill in the circle as Enota scuttles up the tall roots of the stump, and silence falls.

Trees pop open, and women whose hair is streaked with varying amounts of grey emerge and sit on high branches over the glen. 

_ “Dawna, aynes da min e tonn velk dako e dahl roje alle velturn.”  _

(Elders, adventurers will take me with them when I must leave and journey.) 

One woman, hair mostly white, smiles down at the boy.

_ “Ru kah kil ver quil pan wu gik roje, Enota-il?” _

(So the time has come for you to leave, little brother?) 

_ “E iw gol-alle-gin killa.” _

(I am ten-and-three today.)

Another woman, ebony hair shot with silver over copper skin, laughs.

_ “Huld fiy lag tokal.” _

(We did not forget.)

A third woman, with used-to-be-fully red hair and pale skin like Kreyos, nods, leaning over her branch.

_ “Huld da breege wu.” _

(We will miss you.)

_ “E da quil fal.” _

(I will come back.)

All five elders laugh, bittersweet. 

Another elder, with sun-freckled skin and long brown-grey hair, leans over her branch towards the boy. 

_ “Wu da bey ga kah nomef, Enota-il.”  _

(You will learn of the world, little brother.)

She throws an amulet down to the stump.

_ “Fi lag kerl pan breokku. Huld da roj tonn wu.” _

(Do not worry for returning. We will go with you.)

Moonlight streams onto the stump, catching the confliction in the boy’s face as he slips the necklace on.

The final elder, black hair in a plait, pulls the flower from behind her ear and breathes gentle, earthy magic into it.

She drops it to the stump as well, petals slowing and spinning it’s fall into Enota’s hands. 

_ “Enota-il, saz da bre tonn wu. Lije, ayne, alle roj dewne.” _

(Little brother, home will be with you. Rise, adventurer, and go prepare.) 

He pauses a moment, turning to look over everyone he’s ever known, and then he jumps off the stump and takes Kreyo’s hand. 

The two of them, youngest in all of their forest, march down the ridge.

Back at the cottage in the clearing, the fated five are talking. 

“Vel, we just met the kid.”

Mountain, stumbling towards drunk and vehemently against adopting a random hexblood child. 

Sylnan and Bra’ad, who have decided come hell or high water, they’ll be keeping the boy safe. 

Taxi and Velrisa, wobbling between the cost of an extra mouth to feed and the obvious moral issue of tossing someone so young into the world alone.

And Hilltree, who would do just about anything for more of the dense sweetbread he just ate, adoption included. 

But the fated five have made their offer, and the pride and joy of every dryad for miles has been told to pack. 

Petal and Sapling come back into the view of the others, and Sapling seems to be steeling himself. 

He whispers to his sister.

“Go and get the big backpack-basket we made, I have to talk with the adventurers.”

She nods, takes the lantern, and runs off towards the small spring where the pair had been preparing for this journey under the supervision of Aklo Gia. 

Sapling slowly goes over, the others drawing quiet.

He sits down on the rough-hewn bench.

“I will go.”

Bra’ad lets out a whooping cheer, Sylnan smiles and takes a long drink from his canteen, Taxi and Velrisa nervously- excitedly- smile, and Mountain shrugs and goes back to his flask of mead. 

Velrisa, the closest, leans over next to him.

“We’ll take you, but we’ll have to arrange some things. Do you have bags? Rations? Can you fight?”

The five get no answer, because Petal stumbles back into the clearing with a backpack-basket she can hardly get her arms around, and Sapling jumps up to go help her, taller and ganglier, handling it with ease. 

Sapling turns back to the others.

“Do any of you have space in your bags for food? The dryads cannot eat, I have a pantry that will rot if we leave it.”

Mountain is intensely more okay with taking in Sapling all of the sudden. 

He lifts the latch on the door to the house, revealing stacks of hay and firewood under and around the staircase to the second floor.

Bundles of herbs and coils of vine ropes are hanging off the stairs, and Sapling leads them upstairs without a word, Petal stopping to run her hands over the few dried flowers. 

Small bed in one corner covered in odd, haphazard blankets, with a small wooden figurine by the pillow. Water pump and a bucket. Cupboards. Windows covered in fine mesh to keep out bugs. 

Sapling unceremoniously pulls out bread, jarred fruits, and the occasional handful of salted meat, tipping them into the open rucksacks of his new companions. 

You can tell by looking at him Enota doesn’t want to leave the only place he’s ever known, and Kreyo sees it. 

She doesn’t want him to leave either. Not so soon. To lose Aklo Gia and her brother so close together? 

She almost wishes dryads could cry. 

But the elders have told him to go. So Enota packs. 

Bags full of food and eyes drooping, the fated five follow Taxi’s lead, thank Sapling, and go downstairs to make camp. 

He bolts the door behind them, holding his sister back. 

_ “Da wu dia e sirk?” _

(Will you help me pack?)

_ “Tyukwa.” _

(Of course.) 

Enota pulls a small wooden box from underneath his bed. 

Empty. Saved to keep things in during travel. 

Aklo Gia had prepared him for years. The dryads had raised their little brother to go and make them proud. 

But it all felt so cold now.

Kreyo kneels next to him in front of the box, pensive. 

_ “Kah reul.” _

(The flower.) 

Enota carefully lays the blossom from the elders in the bottom of the box. Then the amulet next to it. He reaches up to the wooden figurine on his bed, pauses a second, and hands it to Kreyo instead of putting it in the box.

_ “Min eq ru wu da lakot e.” _

(Take it so you will remember me.) 

She stares at him, incredulous.

_ “Alle ji wu kyer pan saz dekao raf?” _

(And if you wish for home while away?)

_ “Saz da bre tonn e.” _

(Home will be with me.)

Kreyo opens her mouth to argue, but instead she just falls into her brother’s arms and hugs him. 

The siblings hold each other for a while.

A million unsaid griefs at losing Aklo Gia, now each other. 

But Kreyo understands. Her brother is not a dryad. 

He is of dryads, though, and he will make them proud. 

Together they pack his schoolbooks- leaving behind charcoal pencils and practice readers for Kreyo- and his lyre into the pack-basket. Matches. A bag of food. A loop of rope. 

There’s nothing left to pack but his bedroll. 

Enota walks Kreyo to her tree, kisses her forehead, and promises to wake her the next morning before he leaves. 

He goes back to his bedroom and twists in the blankets for much longer than normal, desperately trying to imprint as much of it into his mind as possible. 


	3. of names and titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for being exemplary ily
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy 
> 
> constructive criticism appreciated :)

Enota gets up as early as he always does- the first few sunbeams that creep in through the windows wake him. 

He latches the windows shut over their nettings. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back. It might be snowing by then. 

He rolls up his blankets and ties them around his pillow with twine, and loads that into his basket. He slides his work knife- twelve inches of finely polished bronze with a razor edge- into his armor belt. 

He ties his quiver to the other side of his belt, pulls his longbow over and across his back.

He thinks to himself, over and over: _Enota, Enota, Enota, Enota, Enota._

Sapling is not his name. He doesn’t want to be called it. 

His name isn’t really Enota, either. But he is not Sapling. 

He shuts the bars over the door and leaves his pack under one of the columns holding up the second story.

The sun is only just rising. He goes over to Kreyo’s tree, trying to memorize how the bark feels under his knuckles. 

_Thunk. Tha-thunk, tha-thunk, thunk-thunk._

She opens her tree, stumbling out half-asleep and flinging her arms around her brother. 

_“Nie liw.”_

(Good morning.)

_“Liw gow.”_

(Morning sun.)

And the siblings start to work, even as everything changes. 

Pay their respects to Aklo Gia. 

Then Kreyo pumps water while Enota fills up buckets to wash with. 

Water the garden. 

Make sure the tools are put away. 

Sweep under the eaves. 

Wash up.

Normally, then school, but they’re both too anxious. 

It takes an hour of walking the paths of the dryads, who are all properly back in their spring greens, for the fated five to wake.

Packing up, stretching, drinking out of canteens.

Enota just desperately holds onto Kreyo’s hand and stands against the garden fence, gathering his nerves into the sunrise. 

A few greetings that Enota awkwardly returns, plucking at his laurel crown and fiddling with the knife at his belt. 

The sun is over the horizon by the time everyone has eaten and broken camp, and Velrisa slowly approaches the young dryad and her hexblood brother. 

“You two okay?”

Shaky nods. 

“And someone will watch over your sister?”

Enota nods, so she turns away.

Mountain gruffly calls out to the others. 

“Let’s break. If we’re taking the kid along, we need to get to a town.”

Bra’ad gathers his things, sending a shot of sparks into the air.

“Let’s hop!”

Sylnan nods, picking up Hilltree, and Enota freezes. 

He turns to Kreyo, who has been resolutely looking ahead, clinging to his hand.

He moves to one knee, closer to her height. 

_“E da bre tonn wu.”_

(I will be with you.)

Dryads don’t cry, but Kreyo’s face is twisted up like it anyway. 

_“Alle E tonn wu.”_

(And I with you.)

How the spirits of this forest say farewell. 

Kreyo lets out a muffled wail the second the words pass her lips, pulling Enota into a hug. 

The party has already trooped to the edge of the clearing, at the start of the path out of the dryad’s forest, giving them space. 

Enota waits until she calms down and lets go to stand up and kiss her forehead. 

One tiny hand seizes the knife in his armor belt, and in a flash, Kreyo slices off one of her braids. 

A gasp from both as she hurls the knife to the ground, shoving the braid into her brother’s hand and running for her tree. 

Kreyo’s baby-braids reach the small of her back, no thicker than twine. 

Enota ties the braid around his throat as a necklace and marches to the edge of the clearing with the others. 

Knife in his belt. 

And he takes the lead, pushing himself to walk faster every second. 

No looking back. 

He only stops when he reaches the barrier between the worlds. Deep breath, and he pushes through. 

Chest heaving, Enota waits until the rest of the party is in the real world too. 

“I don’t have a name. And I don’t need one.”

He takes one long, hiccuping breath, and straightens up to his full height, nearly on level with Bra’ad. 

So tall for such a child. So complicated. So many questions and no answers.

“But you may call me _Dollont_.”

Mountain already has his flask out. 

“Fine. Sylnan, which way to the nearest town?”

Bra’ad tosses his lyre in the air and catches it, like a ball.

“What do we need a town for?”

Mountain adjusts his armor before answering. 

“Shoes. Money. Jobs. Weapons, or something.”

Dollont fiddles with the straps of his pack-basket. 

“Shoes?”

Taxi points at everyone else’s feet. 

“What they’ve got on.”

“Oh.”

Sylnan looks up at the sky, the treeline, the Sun. 

“Southwest.”

Mountain takes one last long sip and puts his flask away. 

“Then let’s go.”

Sylnan and Hilltree in the front, then Mountain, then Taxi and Bra’ad, and finally Velrisa.

Dollont, detached, behind the group. 

Quiet conversation between the five while Dollont tries to memorize this section of forest he’s never seen before. 

Velrisa slows up next to him.

“So- Dollont. Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Everyone has parents.”

“Aklo Gia told me I was cursed and they gave me to the dryads so I didn’t die.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Velrisa keeps prying. 

“So- do you have any unusual powers given to you from the dryads?”

“I don’t think so.”

Dollont is not trying to talk, so Vel lets the conversation drop, but doesn’t speed up, walking next to him. 

Thirty minutes of walking, and Bra’ad gets bored of making illusions and pulls out his lyre. 

He hits a riff. 

_“Ooooooooh!!!!”_

Everyone except Hilltree and Dollont groans. 

Bra’ad is in no way deterred.

_“Oh! What do you do when the seas are stormy?”_

Taxi sighs. 

“What do you do when the seas are stormy.”

_“Jump in the water and pull the ships in!”_

“Jump in the water and pull the ships in.”

_“Blue-black oceans glow!”_

“Blue-black oceans glow.”

Bra’ad jumps in the air and hits a different riff.

_“And what do you do when the skies are thunderin’?”_

“What do you do when the skies are thunderin’.”

_“Bottle the lighting and stopper the vials!”_

“Bottle the lightning and stopper the vials.”

_“Blue-black oceans glow!”_

Taxi is slowly getting into it. 

_“Blue-black oceans glow.”_

Bra’ad is thrilled, shooting little lightning sparks off his fingers before he plays the next riff. 

“Now sing it with me, Saxi!”

_“What do you do when the gods are rising?”_

_“What do you do when the gods are rising?”_

Another riff, and at this point Mountain and Sylnan are smiling too, although only Taxi is singing.

_“Beat em’ up and toss em’ in the waters!”_

_“Beat em’ up and toss em’ in the waters!”_

Bra’ad lets off more lightning.

“And all together now!”

The five are giggling.

“Blue-black oceans glow!”

Dollont is mystified, lips pressed together, face drawn up in confusion.

Bra’ad has not stopped jumping and letting off bolts of lightning, and he notices the look on Dollont’s face. 

“Hey, doll-ant!”

“Dollont.”

“Oh. Sorry. Now what’s up with the look on your face?”

“What song was that?”

“I wrote it! One time we killed a god. Victory songs felt appropriate.”

Dollont stops walking, and the rest of the party stops too. 

“You _killed_ a _god_?”

Mountain looks over at Dollont. 

“You got a problem with that?”

“You _killed_ a _god_?”

Taxi nods. 

“Wasn’t easy.”

Dollont sighs and starts marching forward again.

Bra’ad starts playing his lyre again- a drinking song, then a dance number, then another drinking song, and a ballad. 

Eventually, he gets to an Elvish lullaby.

 _“Acres and acres of cradles and cradles,_ _sun dips below the horizon.”_

The marching order is mixed- the party is one big clump, with Bra’ad jumping around from position to position and Dollont at the rear. 

Dollont’s eyes light up- vague memories of being much younger, when Kreyo was only a baby, at bedtime. 

_“Candles come on and the guests have all gone,_ _sun dips below the horizon.”_

There’s a harmony line to the lullaby, and Dollont softly hums along. 

_“All cross the craters, for each beast of nature,_ _the sun dips below the horizon.”_

At the front of the group, maybe ten feet away, Hilltree’s head begins to nod, dragging his feet. 

Bra’ad takes no notice, and Dollont hums a little louder. 

_“The moon says good day, you must stop your play,_ _the sun’s gone below the horizon.”_

Hilltree moves even slower, and the rest of the party begins to feel a weariness in their bones. 

Velrisa, the closest to Dollont, feels like her eyes are filling with sand, that her eyelashes are weighted. 

Bra’ad feels it too, voice weakening, but he still continues, and Dollont takes no notice at all, humming contentedly along.

 _“The work now goes still, not of man’s own will,_ _but for the sun that’s behind the horizon.”_

Taxi leans heavily on his staff, Mountain outright yawns. 

Velrisa wobbles over her own feet and comes to a shaky stop. 

“Bra’ad. No more lullabies.”

Mountain casts her a concerned look. 

“I felt that too- Are you alright?”

She waves him off. 

“Fine.”

Sylnan pulls a mostly-asleep Hilltree onto his back. 

“Let’s get moving, guys. The town isn’t far off, I want to be out of these woods.”

And with the sleepiness fading, the group troops on. 


	4. of boots and ballads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey besties should i join the discord or is it dead by now because honestly idk 
> 
> anyway
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, constructive criticism is appreciated and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

It’s not a huge town the party stumbles into, but the cobblestone streets are wide and clean, and the buildings are all sturdy. 

It’s definitely a “passing-through” sort of town: armored dragonborns, goblins, halflings, humans, dwarves, half-elves and half-orcs all mill through the streets.

Every type of weapon or shield is on display in a shop or at the belt of an adventurer. 

The sharp smells of metal, smoke, and food billow onto the road. Laughter, faint singing, the sound of stomping feet, and conversation all stream from open doors.

The last dregs of sleepiness drain off the party, and Dollont is wide-eyed trying to take it all in. 

Everyone groups up, counting out coins and looking over the nearby shop stalls.

Eventually, Taxi and Velrisa agree to take Dollont to buy decent clothes and shoes, and Mountain decides to go with Sylnan to look for jobs. Hilltree scuttles off towards the vendors. Bra’ad starts for the town square, hoping he can get a few coins performing. 

So with Dollont between them, Taxi and Velrisa wave goodbye to the others and head to the shops. 

Eyes the size of dinner plates, the boy stops at every stall- many types of people were mentioned in his schoolbooks, but never all the trinkets they sold. 

Eventually, the three find a stand selling clothes, and while Dollont feels over the different types of fabric, Taxi and Vel buy him a basic shirt, pants, and a cloak. 

Vel pays, and while gathering the clothes, Taxi notices Dollont is missing. 

“Hey! Kid!”

He’s wondered two stalls down, marveling at small bottles of honey.

“Yes?”

Once he’s back with the others, Taxi hands him the bundle of clothes. 

“Take these.”

“What are they for?”

“Decency, I guess. And warmth. You’ve only got your armor and pants, you’ll need these.”

“Oh.”

Vel thanks the vendor and turns to the others. 

“Let’s go get shoes- I don’t like being away from everyone for too long.”

So they do, Dollont tucking his new clothes into his basket and strapping it shut. 

Further down the road, there’s a shop run by a dark-skinned half-elf, and she fits Dollont with a pair of socks and sturdy leather boots that he marvels at. 

After several: “Thank-you, _Anno_ ” , the three go back onto the streets, Dollont kicking at the road as he walks. 

They decide to walk up through the town square to get Bra’ad, and Taxi takes the opportunity to ask Dollont some questions.

“Hey, kid.”

He looks up from the road and towards Taxi, but says nothing.

“So- with the dryads, you spoke a different language?”

Nod. 

Velrisa shoots Taxi a quizzical look that he ignores.

“And you didn’t have names in that language?”

He shakes his head no. 

“So what did you call each other?”

Dollont thinks a second, then speaks like he’s measuring each word. 

“ _Aklo_ were older sisters I was very close with. _Kreyo_ was the youngest of all, she was little sister. And _Anno_ were sisters who I was not close with. The elders were _dawna_.” 

Taxi takes it all in for a second.

“Were there no brothers?”

“I was brother. I was called brother by _Anno_ and _Kreyo_ or little-brother by _Aklo_ or _dawna_.” 

“So what would Velrisa and I be?”

He cocks his head to one side and turns to Vel.

“I guess you’d be _Anno_.”

He turns back to Taxi. 

“And I guess you’d be _Enota_.”

Taxi takes an interest at this.

“What about the others?”

“ _Enota._ ”

“All of them?”

Dollont nods. 

At this point, they’re nearing the town square, chatter growing louder, and they can hear the sounds of laughter and singing. 

Velrisa cuts in. 

“This’ll be where Bra’ad is. Let’s find him and go get the others.”

Bra’ad is standing on the edge of a fountain, strumming his lyre and performing a drinking song for the crowds of people buying lunch and mead in the taverns. 

It’s a bawdy song, but a catchy one, and waiting for him to finish singing, the three find themselves nodding along. 

Subconsciously, Dollont starts to hum.

As the song continues, the crowd grows rowdier, tankards slamming together, cheering and whooping. 

Taxi mutters something about daydrinkers. 

Dollont just bounces to the verse, dreadlocks swaying, and hums louder, louder. 

Eventually, the song ends and the crowd slowly calms, tossing handfuls of copper and silver to Bra’ad. 

Bra’ad spots the others and waves off the crowds, shoving his tips into his coin purse and jumping down towards Taxi. 

“Saxi! Vel!”

Velrisa coughs. 

“Also Dollont!”

Dollont waves. 

Taxi smiles over at Bra’ad.

“Make any money?”

“Loads, actually, especially on that last song.”

Velrisa nods. 

“Let’s go look for the others. Bad stuff always happens when people go off on their own.”

Bra’ad snorts. 

“Way to be a-”

He shoots pink lightning from his fingertips into the air.

“-pessimist!”

Taxi giggles a bit, but the boys all dutifully follow Velrisa down one of the streets that’s mostly inns and taverns. 

There aren’t any bounty boards around, and no sign of Hilltree, Sylnan, or Mountain, so Vel approaches a few humans in iron armor who are smoking pipes to the side of one of the taverns- very obviously rich huntsmen. 

“Excuse me, do any of you know where we can find a bounty board or a quest?”

They’re all very tall men, and one with a trimmed black beard who seems to be the leader outright laughs looking at Dollont and Vel. 

Muscles ripple in his arms as he pulls a cutlass from it’s scabbard, and everyone jumps back. 

“Yeh’ll find some of yer own on tha bounty boards, she-devil. An’ take that hexer outta here with ya.”

Velrisa’s cheeks go red, and Taxi goes for his scimitar, but before a fight can start, she grabs Dollont and turns on one heel. 

Bra’ad and Taxi look back and forth, weighing the options between starting the brawl and following their companions. 

With nasty final looks to the men, they turn and follow their friends. 

A few shops down, Velrisa finally lets go of a very confused Dollont and stops as the other boys catch up.

Bra’ad rushes to her side.

“I’m so sorry, I should have gotten them-”

Vel waves him off. 

“Let it go, Bra’ad. We can’t start anything now.”

Taxi gives her a soft sort of look. 

“It still fucking _sucks_.”

Her mouth draws into a thin line. 

“I’ve been called worse over far less.”

Dollont is still very confused. 

“ _Ann-_ Velrisa. What happened?”

Everyone stops, trying to figure out how to tell Dollont what’s going on. 

Velrisa looks up into his eyes- dark brown and baffled.

“Some people- very mean people- don’t like us because of how we look.”

“But we didn’t cause that.”

“They don’t care.”

“But we didn’t do anything.”

“It’s the way of things.”

And with a sense of finality to it, she starts walking again, glancing back to make sure Dollont is following only once. 

For a few moments, he is following, but then the realization comes- he didn’t do anything, and people _hate_ him? 

An intense pang of homesickness, then anger, and he stops walking. 

Nobody realizes. 

Dollont turns on one heel and takes off up the street towards the men. 


	5. of crowds and coins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gays
> 
> thanks to kaz for being my proofreader ur honestly my favorite 
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

He’s louder than he expected, running in these new boots, but the clamor of the street covers it, and he comes skidding to a stop in front of the three men in only a few moments.

The leader has sheathed his cutlass, but Dollont jerks them all to attention simply by appearing.

One of the other men, clean-shaven, laughs and draws a broadsword. 

“Lookit here! The lil’ thing came back to get beat up!”

The others draw their swords as well, but Dollont is trembling with rage. 

“I didn’t _do_ anything!”

They’re taken aback by that, and puzzlement apparent.

The men shake off their surprise and laugh, leader stepping forward into the street, wicked blade glinting in the noon sun. 

And Dollont opens his mouth and sings- in Elvish, a song about a prisoner’s execution. 

_“Vines that grow of spring-time song,_ _hold the throat of traitors’ strong!”_

The other two men start laughing again, but the leader is finding it hard to breathe.

_“Sins and crimes allowed too much,_ _rope steals breath of the evil’s touch.”_

At this point, the leaders’ hands fly to his throat, tearing at binds that aren’t there, and the others stop laughing. 

Taxi looks back to ask Dollont a question, and sees his figure, small with distance, up the road, in the street, in front of three armed, much stronger men. 

_“Dollont!”_

Dollont does not hear him, just steps away from the three men a bit more and lets out another verse. 

_“Shame of shames, the disgrace now whines,_ _accomplice wretching on the line.”_

Taxi, Bra’ad, and Velrisa are racing up the streets towards the scuffle, but they’re a long way off.

The leader’s face is turning purple, and now the same invisible force constricts at the throats of the other two men.

Dollont has backed up to the middle of the street, the men still dragging themselves after him, and a crowd is forming around the fight. 

_“Shiver, debtors, pay your tolls,_ _feel the air depart your souls!”_

Still kicking and heaving, the men are lifted a few feet into the air, and the crowd grows larger still, Taxi trying to push a clear path through the crowd. 

_“Paupers’ graves and wooden crosses,_ _criminals buried not in profit.”_

Necks, cheeks, temples go red, go purple, and with final efforts more monumental than the rest, the three pass out, falling to the road in a heap. 

To the right of Dollont, Taxi, Velrisa, and Bra’ad push out of the crowd. A few seconds later, Mountain, Hilltree, and Sylnan push out of the crowd on the left. 

Dollont just stands over their lump of bodies, casual as anything, in the silence of the road. 

Mountain breaks the quiet.

“What the _fuck_.”

Taxi and Sylnan start waving- intimidating- the crowds away, and Velrisa runs to the heap of men with Mountain, Bra’ad, and Hilltree mirroring. 

She kneels down, feeling each neck for a pulse, and heaves a sigh of relief.

“Just unconcious. Not dead.”

She turns to Dollont, but before anyone can get a word out, he bursts out.

“I didn’t do anything to them!”

Bra’ad gives him an odd look. 

“You made them unconscious, little dude.”

Mountain nods. 

“That’s definitely something, yeah.”

A majority of the crowd has dissipated, so Sylnan comes up to the group as well. 

“Fucking gods, the hell happened? We split up for like twenty minutes and you all got in a fight?”

Bra’ad points at Dollont. 

“That was all him! _We_ didn’t do anything.”

Sylnan, bug-eyed, turns to Dollont. 

“ _You_ did this?”

Nod. 

“How did- Okay. We have to get these bodies out of the road. Mountain, get this guy’s legs.”

They cart off the clean-shaven man, then come back for the others while Velrisa just splutters. 

“You said you had no significant magical powers from the dryads!”

Dollont finally seems surprised about something. 

“I can do _magic?_ ”

Taxi has finally scared off his half of the crowd, and he comes up to the rest of the party in a state of near hysteria. 

“Dollont, _what the fuck was that?_ ”

Dollont turns to him, voice nearing a shout.

_“I can do magic?”_

Taxi grabs him by the shoulders.

 _“Is singing like that_ **_normal to you?_** _”_

Nod. 

Hilltree pipes up. 

“Er- yah. Whot the fuck.”

Sylnan herds them all into a tavern several shops down, pulling extra chairs up to a table in the corner. 

Mountain returns with a few tankards of mead, and Taxi and Velrisa actually reach for them.

Velrisa knocks back half of hers in one swallow, and Mountain looks almost wonderstruck, and the rest of the party looks mortified. 

She slams what’s left on the table and heaves a sigh. 

“Let me get this straight. You can _magically sing_?”

Dollont looks just as confused as she is. 

“Was that magic?”

Bra’ad nods. 

“That was most definitely magic.”

Dollont shrugs. 

“Then I guess I can do magic.”

Sylnan takes a drink from his tankard too. 

“So what- what exactly prompted the whole: _making-people-unconscious_ thing?”

Velrisa opens her mouth to explain, but Bra’ad bursts out with:

“Wait! Wait, that wasn’t entirely the little guy's fault!”

She nods. 

“Those guys he got- they called him and I some pretty awful things when we asked them where to find the bounty boards.”

Taxi and Bra’ad go bobbleheaded in agreement.

Sylnan and Mountain suddenly care much less, Mountain leaning back in his chair to speak. 

“Oh. Well, that’s fine.” 

Sylnan stands up.

“Hilltree, come on. Let’s go see if those punks are still there.”

Taxi halfway rises from his seat, reaching across the table to Sylnan.

“Please don’t kill them.”

“Relax, relax. No murder.”

And with that, he and Hilltree are gone. 

The rest of the Fated Five break into discussion on: _Oh gods, we discovered this kid can do magic. What now._

Dollont stares, unseeing, to the rafters of the tavern, his hands resting on his chest and plucking at his longbow string. 

His packbasket by his feet, he thinks of getting out one of his schoolbooks and trying to find an answer there, but instead he writes a mental letter to Kreyo. 

_Kreyo, Nie liw._

(Little sister, good morning.)

 _Kah aynes_ _pinye e lavoc zeqi._

(The adventurers call my singing magical.)

_Lag tema golle ju ik tilla ik y dryad._

(Not everyone here is as simple as a dryad.)

_Lag ter gij welkint, desan dryads, wayler._

(Not all are just, like dryads, either.)

_Eq ju iben liwan golle, alle e renev evhic sey ru illy._

(It is very odd here, and I have only seen so little.)

_E breege wu daki._

(I miss you much.)

His letter is cut off when Sylnan calls for him.

 _“Dollont!_ ”

Dollont jolts back to reality to catch a heavy leather purse being slid across the table towards him. 

When it falls off the rough wood and into his palm, the weight of it makes his hand drop a bit. 

He opens it- a bulging leather pouch bigger than a grown man’s fist- and sees it’s full of coins. Mostly gold.

He looks back up at Sylnan, who is giving the rest of Velrisa’s drink to Hilltree, and cocks his head. 

“What for?”

Sylnan leans back in his chair.

“You earned it.”

He opens his packbasket and tucks it in under his bedroll, then looks up at Sylnan again, ignoring the whispered side conversations of the others.

“And I can get books with this?”

Sylnan squints. 

“What do you want with books?”

“So I can know about magic. I didn’t know I was magic.”

Bra’ad slams both hands on the table and makes everyone jump.

“Dollont’s a genius!”

Mountain mutters something about hating books, but Bra’ad just waves him off. 

“Veil, we can go find a book that tells us what to do!” 

Taxi looks up at Bra’ad like he’s completely solved all their problems.

“Bra’ad! You fucking megamind, I could kiss you!”

Bra’ad smirks. 

“Who wouldn’t want to kiss me?”

Then he goes to strike a pose and trips over a chair. 


End file.
